Leaf
by hoshiww
Summary: x "The past is gone. Only the future awaits us." "But memories I will always cherish." Who is that kneels before this grave of amethyst? MurtaghXEragon


**Leaf**

**Genre**: Romance/Tradegy  
**Pairing**: MurtaghXEragon  
**Warnings**: Character Death, mild slash, flangst if it could be called flangst. I actually don't know what fits into 'flangst'.  
**Summary**: "The past is gone. Only the future awaits us. But memories I will always cherish." Who is that kneels before this grave of amethyst?

* * *

A leaf fluttered down beside him.

* * *

"_Murtagh!" Eragon growled as he grabbed his left arm and quickly hopped over Murtagh's sword as Murtagh swiped at his legs. "You're going to pay for that!"_

_Murtagh smirked. "That's if you can hit me."_

"_Is that a challenge?"_

"_That depends on if you want to take it on, minding the fact that you will lose. Sorely."_

_Eragon swung Zar'roc into ready position. "I won't lose and I'll show you that, so bring it on!"_

_And so they fought, neither gaining the upper hand. Sweat dripped down their chins freely, and each tasted the salt in their mouths, which only served to further fuel their adrenaline. Thrust, parry, swing, block… the muted sound of magically blunted metal on metal rang dully in the air. Only when the sun had set and the owl hooted, did Eragon lose his concentration, startled at how late it was. Murtagh was on him within a second, knocking him to the ground with a well aimed kick and then another to the hand holding onto Zar'roc._

"_What did I say earlier?" Murtagh sheathed his sword._

"_That you'll take first watch tonight?" Eragon retrieved the blood red sword._

_Murtagh resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Admit you lost."_

"_I never did. The owl just surprised me."_

_Murtagh just shook his head._

* * *

He would never forget the days they had spent playing and fooling around, and admittedly he had always wished that the days like that would repeat, go on for another tomorrow. Yet even then the constant shadow of the Empire was at his back.

The leaf touched the ground. It looked forlorn on the bare earth.

* * *

_They were in a cave in the Beor Mountains. The rain had stopped their journey for now, but both knew that they would have to set out soon, be it still raining or night had fallen. Eragon sat huddled in a corner trying to warm his self with the meagre fire. Murtagh sat opposite him, just beyond the flames, shirt set over his knees so they could dry. Eragon would never admit that his eyes raked over Murtagh's body longingly that night. No, he would say that he was looking thoughtfully at the flames._

_He shivered slightly as a draught drifted in. He moved closer to the flames and hugged himself, trying to recycle body heat. Murtagh caught on. He moved over beside Eragon and wrapped his arms around him. Eragon tensed. Murtagh was not one to show emotion, or get close to anyone let alone hug them—_

"_Whatever thoughts you have about me hugging you, kill them. I am only doing this to warm myself up," Murtagh's icy tone sliced through Eragon's train of thoughts, leaving behind a cold feeling. It would have been nice to know that they were growing close, to something more than just travel campions, to being friends. But that mattered little in their race to find the Varden. It just made the task a little more lonesome._

"_I'll keep first watch; you can go to sleep," Murtagh said softly. Sleepily, Eragon nodded off._

* * *

The days they were up and running… he had always loved a good chase. He had always enjoyed the thrill. He wanted to be what the ones he hunted could not. The deer that got shot the moment it's ear twitched, the rabbit that stupidly set a foot into a trap.

The wind blew gently, silently tossing the leaf around.

* * *

_It was just after the Battle under Farthen Dûr, after he had woken up, and it was just painful to see the scattered bodies. Eragon walked around, a bit listlessly, feeling dull and withdrawn. That wasn't to say that the stench of death around him didn't hit a cord within him. It resonated so loudly, Eragon instinctively distanced himself from it._

_And the fact that Murtagh was gone. The only reminder he had was the crumpled clothes found at the bottom of a rift and the scar that ran down his back. It kept hurting, hurting, hurting. Kept reminding him of Murtagh, Murtagh, Murtagh._

_He felt so lost. He had only Saphira as comfort, and the occasional sad face of Nasuada. He had lost his friend._

* * *

He smiled minutely in the wind. He settled down to sit, still staring at the stone in front of him. A hand reached out to touch the grave next to it and his fingers met cold, hard, yet smooth crystal.

The leaf was blown to lie in front of the gravestone.

* * *

_Who was it to think that the next time they were to meet was on Dragonback? On opposite sides of the field no less. A friend lost. An enemy gained. And a bother too. _

_Eragon wanted to laugh as Murtagh departed on his mighty Red Dragon. He wanted to laugh, laugh until he cried. Laugh at the world to tell it he was still living, that they haven't tried hard enough to get rid of him. Laugh at Galbatorix for been so foolish to send Murtagh with his last piece of good heart in his stead, rather than come out and slay him at once. He wanted to laugh at Murtagh for giving into that said goodness. Laugh at himself or watching that goodness shatter. Wanted to laugh for laughing. Wanted to laugh for wanting to laugh._

_How he wanted to laugh until this was all over._

_How he wanted to laugh until he cried._

_How he wanted to cry until he laughed._

_He watched as the battle came to a standstill, the army of the Empire withdrawing when they saw their champion fly away. There was a mad scramble to get out of the area, and a mad scramble to slay any soldier wearing red and black. Swords clinked, helmets thrown down. A mad cheer from the Varden, thinking they had won, when they had not. Murtagh was just back to claim what was rightfully his. He looked around at the merry men, feeling as if he was not a part of this. This was no celebration. This was no memorial. This was yet another stepping stone in his already drowned life._

_He planted his hands on to the ground and screamed._

_He didn't care that people were looking at him, in concern, in panic, in fear. He didn't care that his voice was hoarse and his throat was sore. He didn't care that blood was still pouring from his many wounds._

_The scream morphed into a derisive laugh._

_He couldn't care less. He really couldn't care less._

* * *

A hand reached out to caress the stone lovingly. What once was sandstone now stood a single block of amethyst. How appropriate, he thought, a gentle blend of sapphire and ruby. Looking back, he couldn't tell when friendship first became romance. He guessed it always had been, from the very beginning. But to learn who his brother was… He shook his head. Better to dwell on pleasant matters.

The leaf quivered in its spot.

* * *

_Eragon could still feel the drain one word had on him, could still feel the power lapping in his mouth. He settled down next to Saphira, already mourning how far gone Murtagh was. Could he not, will he not, take his advice? He remembered someone telling him 'the more things stay the same, the more they change'. He dismissed them as fool's words back then—how can one change if they always stay the same?—but he realised now that this was his only chance, Murtagh's only chance._

_Everyone will change in the course of time. Even elves. Where once they were cheerful and bright, now they hid in their forest. Eragon could only hope for the opposite. Where once Murtagh was cold, closed and stoic, he would open up. Eragon couldn't outright ask Murtagh to be outgoing, but at least share some of his experiences, especially concerning their mother._

_Eragon drew himself closer to Saphira._

Oh little one_, Saphira said, compassionately._

_No, he thought privately to himself, 'Oh Murtagh.'_

* * *

He picked up the leaf still trembling at its place in front of the gravestone. He looked at it, rolled it in his hands and traced the veins with a light finger.

* * *

_He watched as Glaedr plummeted, watched as Murtagh's lips twisted into a triumphant smile. He had to keep reminding himself. This was Galbatorix, this was not Murtagh. This was Galbatorix, this was not Murtagh. Murtagh would never do such a thing, right? Right?_

_He found himself doubting his words. He felt disgusted at himself for doubting his words._

_What is a friend that doesn't trust his friends?_

_Surely not a friend._

_He shook as he slept in a Feinster room. The dreams came hard and fast, yet he could never shake himself out of it. All the men he had slain, all the people he have lost… most importantly the one he felt inclined to help, only he was helpless. He knew he would wake up screaming, he was thankful of the thick walls that could block out his screams and reduce them to a muffle. But physical walls never stopped Saphira. He had apologised over and over for waking her with his mad mental panic. She would just dip her head to lightly touch her snout to his forehead. Somehow sympathy was crueller than anger._

_He mourned for Murtagh's plight. She mourned for Thorn's. They would, against Nasuada's word, fly around on those sleepless nights._

* * *

He shook his head. He had come here to pay his respect, not to drown in past sorrows. He gripped the leaf a little tighter than was necessary.

With his other hand, he traced over the words engraved into the amethyst.

'Here lies Eragon Bromsson,  
Rider of Saphira and champion of the Varden.  
He is my little brother,  
My friend,  
My one.

'May his name live on in everyone's hearts.'

* * *

_Two mighty dragons flew in the sky. One red and one black. He was on the ground, Saphira having being grounded by Shruikan. He quickly cut himself free as Thorn dived. Saphira ducked under Thorn's talons, then grabbed Thorn's hind leg, dragging him down. Thorn landed on his side, allowing Eragon to take a swipe with Brisingr. Metal met metal as Murtagh parried. Then unexpectedly, Murtagh pushed Eragon back with one word._

_By the time Eragon had regained his footing and breathing, Murtagh had already sliced his leg straps and was advancing towards him. Saphira and Thorn were in the air madly fighting. Through their connection, Eragon could see that Galbatorix was relaxing in his perch on Shruikan. He growled. Murtagh swung. He parried. Thrust, parry, swing, block… too like back then. Too like…_

_His concentration slipped and Murtagh caught his shoulder. Blood oozed from the nick, dwarf amour taking a lot of the impact. He berated himself, and he felt Saphira's disapproval. Never mind. He ducked as Murtagh came again, grim determination set on his face. He rolled under another thrust, kicked Murtagh behind the knee, and again on the back when he stood up. He raised his sword as Murtagh turned to look at him._

_Hazel eyes, so cold, holding so many secrets. They had little lights dancing within them whenever they turned to Eragon, and even now they still did—_

Eragon!_ A reprimanding tone was heard in his head. Glaedr was trying to end his distraction._

_His sword wavered in the air. That was all the time needed for Murtagh to regain the upper hand. A kick to his stomach followed by a punch to his chest winded him. Murtagh swung Zar'roc above his head in his trademark move. Desperately, still breathless, Eragon shoved one hand in front of him, magic pouring into it. Suddenly he felt very drained. He could hear Glaedr's reproving tut-tuts for using magic without saying the Ancient Language. He could already hear Arya's lecture—that it could have costed him his life—but he couldn't care less._

"_Brisingr," Eragon muttered. Galbatorix's laugh still resounded in his head when he had announced his sword's name._ _'Fire', he had said, sneeringly, 'could be easily swathed in darkness and fire it will no longer be.'_

_Murtagh stood up. He eyed Brisingr warily, but Eragon wasn't going to let him put it out. He pounced onto Murtagh, and wherever Brisingr landed, it burned. Murtagh grimly took it in stride, always landing two blows for every one of Eragon's. Even after all his training, Murtagh was still better than him._

_Suddenly, through his mind link, he saw Shruikan dive. Galbatorix must have gotten impatient. Eragon gasped, as Saphira's back was torn by Shruikan's claws. He barely managed to dodge a strike from Murtagh. Saphira roared. Eragon screamed his anger. Suddenly he was on the attack. Once he beat Murtagh, he could quickly attend Saphira. Thrust, parry, swing, block… He was madly waving Brisingr around now, like those sick berserker men the Empire had, those that feel no pain… Only, he was driven by pain, by sorrow, by loss… Those that he had slain had families to go back to, those that he had lost could never return, and the one in front of him now…_

_Eragon went limp as Saphira tumbled out of the sky. A two on one fight was never fair. They had only managed to come so far because Galbatorix just sat back and watched. _

_Suddenly everything was amplified. It was like the wall he had set around himself finally broke down and everything crashed into him like tidal waves. The pain, the sorrow, the loss, the hate, the fear, the anger… and the love._

"_SAPHIRA!"_

_His arm jerked. He put whatever remaining strength he had left into his strikes._

"_You—" clang "killed" clang "Saphira" clang "I will never" clang "ever" clang "forgive you" clang "GALBATORIX!"_

_He turned away from Murtagh, his hand raised towards the dark smudge in the blood-stained sky. His mind reached out, touching every living thing there was. Even as his mind still reached out, he began calling on the Ancient Language, a ball of sapphire sitting in his hand._

"_Brisin—"_

"_Letta!"_

_A foreign probe blundered into his mind. _Don't do this, Eragon, don't cast away all that you have been protecting for one mad King, _Murtagh whispered into his brain. _Please.

_Eragon faltered. He wanted to cry, he wanted to laugh. Maybe the world has finally done enough to get rid of him. His hand gradually lowered to rest beside him, the sapphire glow disappearing. He slowly turned to face Murtagh._

"_All I wanted to protect was you. I wanted to protect Alagaesia so you could come back to a good world, not the place you used to live in. So you can smile. So you can laugh. So you can be happy when you never did." Eragon stepped forward on unsteady legs. He stopped in front of Murtagh and together they just stood in the middle of the battlefield just staring into each other. Slowly and tentatively, as if Murtagh would bite him any time—which was the case—, Eragon raised his hand to touch his half-brother's cheek._

_It was like a floodgate had opened. Each shared the other's experience. They lived another lifetime, as another person, but with the same feelings. Still there was loss, sorrow and love. Still there was anger, hopelessness and fear. Another life intertwined with theirs. A meeting of pathways. Another collection of memories to be treasured._

_The experience ended a few scant seconds later, but to the two it was as if another lifetime had passed. They stared at each other, hazel mixing with brown, thoughts exchanged wordlessly, content enough in this outrageously crazy world. Around them blood poured like rain, silent screams cut short, and mad laughter of painless men howled in the wind._

"_Murtagh… I—"_

_Pain exploded in his back. He gasped, halfway it turned into a cough, blood spurting out, hitting Murtagh's armour._

_Red burst forth from Eragon's chest. Murtagh could only watch in shock as a white blade emerged so painfully slow from the red. The blood slid off it, leaving the blade so perfectly clean. Ironically clean. So ironically white. Some illogical part of Murtagh's brain registered the logic behind the white blade. Galbatorix's blade was from before his fall, the colour of his previous dragon, of course it wouldn't be the colour of Shruikan. It represented Galbatorix's pure soul before this. Before all this._

"_Hmm, Rider," Galbatorix's deadly and silky voice crooned. "Your blood tastes so sweet." Galbatorix leant forward, licking the blood trickling from Eragon's slightly parted mouth. Eragon shuddered at the voice. Murtagh recoiled at the King's bold display. Suddenly Eragon's hand slipped from its place on Murtagh's cheek. Murtagh hurriedly caught it and cradled it as the fire in those bright brown eyes died. _

Brisingr_, Murtagh finally knew. Brisingr was the fire of the light. Eragon was the light of the fire. He was the one who had been lighting the tunnels of Murtagh's life. And that light had just died in Galbatorix's arms. _

* * *

It hadn't been easy getting this far.

"Well, I must get going. They need me, the Varden does. I will see you again, one day, when this war is over, Eragon."

His hand slipped from the gravestone. It came to trace the features of the young man encased in amethyst. Though the eyes were closed, he could still see the fire that would have burned in those bright chocolate eyes. He stood up, and Thorn dipped his snout to touch the gravestone in respect.

_The past is gone,_ Thorn said sadly. _Only the future awaits us._

"But memories I will always cherish."

Murtagh threw the leaf into the air and departed towards the Varden stronghold with Thorn lumbering after him.

The wind howled.

It tore the leaf to shreds.

* * *

_If I were to walk this life again, _

_Would I have changed anything?_

_I wish I could so I would never lose you._

_But if our lives were not full of tragedy,_

_Would we have then known true happiness?_

* * *

**A/N**: Ahh, it seems as though I can write one shots just fine, but multichapter fics just die on me. My friend disapproved of my cliched idea. She did a facepalm. But I quite like it. Especially the Battle of the Burning Plains memory.

I put the leaf in on a whim. If you do see a connection between the leaf and this story, please tell me. My teacher puts great emphasis on how everything is meant to work together (i.e. there mustn't be unnecessary things in a story).

Hope you enjoyed it. I will try to write an Inheritance multichapter fic. No guarantees though. My congratulations to those fics that have on average over thirty reviews per chapter.

**X. TANgled**


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